


Amaryllis and Americanos

by yixingsaun



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Florist, Cacti - Freeform, M/M, Plants, alternative universe - artists, cafe owners! Xiuhan, flowers and their meanings, it's rated m but no actual sex is had, there is also brief mention of homophobia, there's angst for like .3 seconds but it's barely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yixingsaun/pseuds/yixingsaun
Summary: Jongin is a struggling artist working part-time at the local cafe and Yixing is the boring florist across the road.





	Amaryllis and Americanos

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #5003. I don't really think this is what you were expecting, but i hope it's good anyway!  
> also, i know little to nothing plants so if anything is incorrect, i sincerely apologize.

Tonight, Jongin wants to have fun. No more wallowing over his family or his failure of a love life or the stacks of empty sketchbooks in his apartment. No, tonight he’s going to drink a dangerous amount of alcohol and listen to bad music and dance like no one's watching.

 

It's a shame that there's _always_ someone watching. It's the curse of having a nice body and a pretty face. Sometimes Jongin doesn't mind having eyes on him, feels flattered at the attention, but other times he just wants to fade into the crowd and be invisible. He likes the feeling of being in a place where no one knows his name, in a place where he could tell anyone anything and they would have no choice but to believe him. That was the whole premise of moving to a new town.

 

Today, the one staring at him is a man, and a pretty one at that. He's tall and lanky with a narrow jaw and a permanent frown etched across his lips. He's cute in a model sort of way, kind of like the guys he’s sketched at the million art classes he's wasted his money on, all brooding eyebrows and pouty lips.

 

Jongin has already drank quite a bit, so he's not sure if it's the alcohol or his own strength of will that’s impairing his judgement. Either way, he’s striding over to where the man is leaning against the wall.

 

"Are you just gonna stare at me all night or are you going to say something?" Jongin asks, leaning up on the tips of his toes to press his lips against the shell of the man's ear.

 

He's nursing a glass of gin, and when he looks down at Jongin with those soft lips and furrowed eyebrows, Jongin's courage shrivels up into nothingness.

 

"Sorry for staring," the man says finally, his voice a warm baritone that makes Jongin want to melt against him. "When you go to a museum, you admire the art, right?"

 

"Ah, well, I can't blame a fellow art enthusiast," Jongin replies in his patented _We’re Gonna Have Sex Tonight_ voice. He blinks, and he doesn't remember coming up so close but suddenly the man’s breath hot against his neck. "I'm Jongin."

 

"I'm Yifan."

 

Jongin takes the glass from Yifan's hand and takes a sip. He doesn't really know how much alcohol he's consumed at this point, but he feels kind of like he's floating. "It's nice to meet you, Yifan. Would you like to dance?"

 

He hesitates. Cute. "I'm not very good."

 

Jongin's eyes sparkle. "Perfect."

 

Yifan and Jongin move out onto the dance floor, and it's clear that Yifan wasn't being modest in relation to his skills. Mostly, Jongin moves around him while Yifan sort of... bobs to the beat. But it's fine. After all, Jongin can’t bring himself to mind all that much when Yifan’s lips are pressed to his throat.

 

Someone else has joined them, a man in a loose tank top and the tightest skinny jeans in the universe. And he moves well, a hell of a lot better than poor Yifan. Jongin has passed the point of giving a shit let alone recognizing faces, so at some point he leaves Yifan and latches himself onto the stranger. Somewhere over his shoulder, Yifan slinks off to the bar for another drink with a look of relief on his face.

 

After several songs filled with sweaty, filthy grinding, Jongin turns to face the stranger.

 

"Wanna go back to my place?" he asks with only a tiny bit of a slur, draping himself over the guy who is a bit shorter than him but also stronger and more compact. He also has a nice ass; Jongin makes sure to grab handfuls of it between his palms.

 

"Um," he hesitates, looking up at him with eyes that are maybe a little searching. Jongin’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not, but it doesn’t matter because then the man is smiling and the look on his face could make flowers grow as he says, "Sure."

 

 

Jongin sort of remembers where he lives. It’s a cute little brick apartment where he grows tiny cacti. The layout may be kind of cramped, but it’s _home_. His home; one he paid for with his own money.

 

They come up on the building fast―or rather it _feels_ fast to Jongin’s alcohol-hazed brain. In reality, it takes almost an hour because Jongin keeps trying to kiss the guy on the street and stick his hand in his pants.

 

Jongin lives on the second floor and they have to stand quietly in the elevator next to his neighbor, a Chinese exchange student whose name Jongin can’t remember.

 

“Wǎn ān, Taozi,” Jongin says (or something like that) when the elevator doors open. He doesn’t know where he got _Taozi_ from, thinks maybe Sehun called him that once. It means peach or something and peaches remind him of butts and he now has his hand firmly on his date’s (if you can even call him that) ass.

 

Taozi ( _Tao?_ ) watches, eyebrows furrowed, as Jongin and the guy in the tight jeans disappear into his apartment. Once the door closes, he pulls out his phone. “Yeah, Jongdae? Can I come stay at your place? My neighbor brought someone home again.”

 

They are a tangle of limbs as they fall onto Jongin’s bed. There are lips on his neck, pressing insistently to the juncture where his neck meets shoulder and making him keen. He’s hard, painfully hard, trying and failing to coordinate a good angle to get some friction.

 

“Please, please touch me,” he gasps, but the man isn’t touching him, not where he wants him. He’s so _frustrated_ he thinks that if he doesn’t get fucked soon he might cry. “Please, I want you so bad.”

 

“You have me, baby,” the man murmurs in a voice so warm that Jongin thinks he could almost nut right then and there. But it’s not enough, not when the lips are moving to his Adam’s apple to press another hickey instead of moving to his cock.

 

It’s when he pulls away to survey his work that he realizes that there are tears running down Jongin’s flushed cheeks. “Oh my God,” he says, his voice going up an octave. “Dude, are you alright?”

 

“I’m good.” Jongin whimpers under his gaze. “I just want ―”

 

“How drunk are you?”

 

He hiccups, squinting up at him in the darkness. “Pretty drunk, but please. I need…” He trails off when he sees the man reaching for pants to get dressed. “Wait! No, please.” The tears are falling faster, but he doesn’t care. Jongin shifts them so that he is on top, straddling the guy and stopping him from escaping. “Please... “ What was his name again? He probably said it before.

 

“Yixing,” he prompts, looking up at him with judging eyes.

 

“Yixing,” he mewls. “I’m so hard, I just need you to fuck me. Please.”

 

“Baby, you’re too drunk for this right now.” He starts to shift, but Jongin holds him in place. “Come on, you need some rest.”

 

“No!” Jongin reaches for the lube on his night stand and slicks up his fingers. “Look, I’m good. I’m sober enough to know what I want.”

 

That’s debatable, actually, but then he’s pressing in a finger, then another. It’s too fast, and it’s probably going to hurt in the morning. Actually, _scratch that_ , it kind of hurts right now due a a mixture of too much friction and not enough lube but Jongin doesn’t really feel it, too focused on the fact that he’s _finally_ got something to fill him up. He wiggles his fingers inside him, the space between his eyebrows creasing.

 

“Please. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

 

“Yixing-ge,” Jongin whimpers, eyes watering from the stretch. He’s three fingers in, knuckle deep, and lube is trickling out with every push of his fingers. “Don’t you want me?” He looks at Yixing from under his eyelashes, all watery puppy dog eyes and cute pouting. For a second, he thinks it’s working, but then―

 

“Not like this,” Yixing says, putting his hand on top of Jongin’s to still his movement. “Please, let’s get you washed up and get you to bed.”

 

“We’re already in bed.” He giggles, but it cuts off into a moan when he tries to free his hand from Yixing only to end up brushing his cock against Yixing’s abdomen in his struggle.

 

“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” Yixing says apologetically as he tugs Jongin’s fingers out and tries not to notice the way his hole is desperately clenching around nothing. “Where is your bathroom?”

 

 

Jongin wakes up to an empty bed, a glass of water, and two pills on his bedside table. There's a yellow sticky note next to the glass with _get some rest!!_ scrawled sloppily across. He used the two exclamation points to make a smiley face. What the fuck? Those are his Art Idea sticky notes.

 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jongin rolls out of bed. He's wearing a tank top that doesn't belong to him, is too baggy and hangs off his shoulders. And his ass, his ass _aches_. He winces as he stands up and makes the executive decision to swallow the Advil and the entire glass of water. Then, he waddles to the bathroom to take a piss.

 

Jongin ends up falling asleep in the shower, his cheek pressed against the tile. He only wakes up when his foot begins to slide and he has to catch himself before he can smash his skull against the faucet. The near death experience wakes him up for the most part, and he manages to wash, rinse, and repeat all in one piece.

 

He towel-dries his hair and pads back to his room clad in only a towel. His phone is buzzing somewhere, abandoned somewhere during last night’s events. He fumbles through his blankets and shakes them out until he hears the telltale _plop_ of his phone on the carpet. It’s probably not cracked.

 

This is not the same blanket that was on his bed before. The Original Blanket was navy blue with stripes, a soft duvet that was good for blanket cocoons. This is one that was folded next to his laundry basket, meant to be put away but ultimately forgotten. It’s a quilt that his mother sent to him after he moved out, the one he used to sleep with at home back before―

 

The guy from last night (Jongin has forgotten his name already) really changed the sheets on his bed, cleaned him up, and left him a note.

 

Jongin scratches his head as he checks his phone. Who the hell was that guy?

 

 

 

It’s raining _again_ today and Jongin wishes he could sit by the window to watch the way the raindrops bounce off the sidewalks and race down the window panes, but instead he’s standing at a cafe counter, taking orders. As he makes yet another medium french vanilla iced coffee for a teenage girl (not so) discreetly taking pictures of him on her iPhone, he thinks about how relaxing it would be to listen to the rain and draw for a while.

 

Way back when, Jongin used to love people-watching. His favorite pastime was sitting in the courtyard and drawing whoever was around. That was how he met Junmyeon.

 

“Hello?”

 

He blinks, and he sees the line of customers has grown from one person to six. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, placing the lid on the plastic cup and handing it to the disgruntled customer.

 

The shop is surprisingly busy for a rainy day, and Jongin doesn’t get the chance to take a break until noon. Minseok gives him the okay to go grab lunch or whatever, but it’s still pouring so Jongin just slumps in one of the seats by the window to listen to the rain and take a nap.

 

He’s awoken by Minseok sliding into the seat across from him with a hot coffee and some pastry. “You feeling okay, kid?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed like a concerned chipmunk.

 

“Yeah,” Jongin answers automatically, mostly out of habit rather than truth. “I’m fine. The rain just makes me feel a little…” He struggles for the word, but Minseok waits for him the find it. “Melancholy.”

 

“Ah,” Minseok mutters. After a few searching moments, he says, “Well, you should eat. That usually makes me feel better.” He pushes the plate and cup towards him.

 

“I don’t have any money,” Jongin says with a shake of his head, but Minseok doesn’t seem to be budging, so he takes a hesitant sip of the coffee. It tastes perfect, but that’s not a surprise when Minseok was the one who gave it to him. Now, if it was Han…

 

After a few minutes of Jongin eating and Minseok looking out the window, the bell chimes, signalling a customer has arrived. Jongin moves to get up, but Minseok motions for him to finish eating, so he stays put.

 

“... It’s nice to see you,” Minseok is saying somewhere over his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if we’d see you today, what with the rain and all.”

 

Jongin hums, taking a mouthful of pastry in his mouth.

 

“And miss the best coffee in town? No way,” an all too familiar voice responds.

 

Jongin chokes. It’s been a few weeks since The Incident, and he’s gotten over the burning embarrassment of being rejected for being a drunken mess. However, he also hasn’t _seen_ the guy since then. He doesn’t know if he can face him now.

 

He wants to run, wants to melt into the hardwood floors, but he’s not sure how to do any of that without alerting them. He lowers his head, gulping down his lukewarm coffee to dislodge the apple chunk stuck in his throat.

 

Minseok snorts. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Yixing. You don’t have to worry about me spitting in your coffee.” He taps away at the cash register. “A long black, right?”

 

“You know me well.” Jongin doesn’t look over his shoulder, but he thinks he can hear a smile in the guy’s― er, _Yixing’s_ voice.

 

Yixing. Jongin thinks about it, thinks about That Night and the look on Yixing’s face when Jongin tried to take him home. His memory is a little hazy, but when he considers it, Yixing seemed to recognize him.

 

Which means he can probably recognize him now, slumped in the corner table of the cafe by the window. Jongin curses in every language he knows (read: one) and curls into himself even more, pretending to be asleep. Maybe if he hides here, Yixing won’t acknowledge him.

 

“Nini~” Minseok calls, that little shit. “When you’re done eating, can you take your dishes to the kitchen?”

 

Jongin can feel the two of them looking at him. He can probably pretend to be asleep, but he doesn’t wanna make a fuss so he just grunts out a soft, “got it,” and wishes for death.

 

He considers waiting until Yixing leaves to get up, but that doesn’t work out because Yixing and Minseok seem to be deep in conversation about God knows what. So, Jongin has to swallow his pride, square his shoulders, and pass Yixing on the way to the kitchen. He doesn’t make eye contact and hides there until he’s sure he’s gone.

Finally, Jongin peeks around the door to see the cafe is empty and returns to his post. Minseok is there, leaning against the counter and reading a magazine.

 

“It’s a slow day today,” Minseok says thoughtfully, not even looking up from the article. “You can probably head home early.”

 

“Are you sure?” Jongin frowns.

 

“Yeah. You seem like you need some rest.” Minseok looks up at him and smiles. “Just make sure you’re here tomorrow and completely recharged.”

 

 

It’s a whole week before Jongin runs into Yixing again.

 

It’s 6am on a Thursday morning, and Jongin is struggling to figure out which key it is that unlocks the cafe door. He’s been called in to open today because Minseok has to drive Han to his dentist appointment, and Baekhyun can’t be trusted on his own. Jongin supposes he’s in no place to complain since the cafe has free wifi and is only really busy during specific times.

 

He’s wondering why Minseok has _twelve_ keys on his keyring when he hears a car door close somewhere behind him. He glances over his shoulder, and there is Yixing, heading into the florist’s. His hair is wet and dripping in his eyes, and he’s wearing red flannel and distressed jeans. He looks completely ordinary, nothing to cause a car accident over, so why is Jongin’s stomach twisting at the sight of him?

 

Yixing smiles, and just as he raises his hand to wave, the correct key finally turns the lock and Jongin is sent stumbling forward into the cafe. It takes every fiber of his being not to look back as he closes the door behind him. Face burning, he tells himself he was imagining the friendliness in Yixing’s expression. He was just being nice, right? Nothing more?

 

Jongin pads behind the counter to clean the coffee machines and then wipes down the counter, the cash register, and the tables. He sweeps the floor, opens the curtains, waters the plants, makes sure the display is still working so the cakes are in a buyable condition. Then, finally after a good hour, he turns the sign from _closed_ to _open_ and plops down at the register.

 

It’s no more than a few minutes later that his phone begins to ring. Baekhyun is calling to check in on him, probably courtesy of Minseok.

 

“Do you usually see The Florist when you open in the morning?” Jongin asks in lieu of hello, reaching for a napkin to test his pen on.

 

“Um,” Baekhyun replies, taking a purposefully annoying period of time to response. “Yeah, he works across the street. I see him like every day, don’t you?”

 

Jongin chews on his lip, absent-mindedly scribbling little tornadoes with his pen. For a blissful three week period, he was beautifully unaware of the fact that the boring florist across the road was the guy that he tried to give a handjob in the middle of an abandoned intersection. Honestly, he didn’t even consider it.

 

“It’s not like it’s a bad thing, anyway,” Baekhyun continues, oblivious. “I mean, the guy is a beautiful human being.”

 

He wrinkles his nose, then belatedly realizes that Baekhyun can’t see his expression. “He’s okay,” he mumbles.

 

“Please, Jongin. _I_ would marry that guy.”

 

“When does he usually come in?” Jongin asks suddenly. He could probably plan his schedule around him.

 

Baekhyun laughs. “Why? I thought he was _okay_.”

 

“Just tell me what time he usually comes in, or I’ll―” Jongin pauses. He doesn’t really know what he’ll do. He’s never threatened someone before.

 

“You’ll _what_?”

 

“I’ll… tell Minseok you don’t wash your hands before baking?” Jongin frowns.

 

He’s laughing at him again. “Nini, you’re so cute.” There’s a rush of feedback through the speaker, and then Baekhyun is screaming, “No Mongryong! That’s _my_ Hot Pocket!” followed by a thud.

 

Jongin sits and waits for Baekhyun to return like the good, patient human being that he is. No one has arrived at the cafe yet, so he sighs as he reaches for a new napkin. Soon enough, he hears loud panting through the speaker and the click of a door.

 

“I can’t believe he ate my Hot Pocket,” Baekhyun says sullenly. “It was the last one.”

 

“Sucks,” Jongin replies unsympathetically. It’s cosmic payback for teasing him.

 

“Wow, okay,” Baekhyun grumbles. “The kid thinks just because he’s got some older guy interested in him, he can disrespect his elders. I see how it is.”

 

“Wait, _what_?” He straightens up in his seat. “Who’s interested in me?”

 

“Yixing is, you stupid soggy noodle!”

 

The line goes dead, and Jongin frowns down at his napkin. The little circles he was doodling had somehow shaped themselves into a flower.

 

 

Yixing stops by every day at 7:45am on the dot to get his morning coffee.

 

“A long black, please,” he orders on a rainy Monday morning. He’s wearing a ratty blue hoodie and tight black jeans with rips in the knees, and Jongin wonders how he dresses like that but still gets business.

 

“Three-fifty,” Jongin replies, avoiding his eyes.

 

Yixing hands him the correct change and takes a step back to let anyone else order. There’s no one around, though, so Jongin goes about making the coffee. As he pours it in a to-go cup, he grimaces. It smells so _strong_.

 

“What is it?” Yixing asks, his eyes curving into crescents in amusement.

 

“It’s just so bitter,” Jongin explains, ears turning pink.

 

He’s laughing, and Jongin doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. He takes a sip of the drink and hums in approval. “It was nice seeing you again, Nini.” He turns to walk away, and Jongin tries not to think about how good his butt looks in those jeans (or about the fact that he’s _felt_ that butt with his own two hands).

 

“Um,” he clears his throat. “You too.”

 

Yixing stops by around lunch, too, on slow days. He gets coffee and a wrap and invites Jongin to come sit with him. And Jongin, well, he doesn’t know how to say no, so he sits across from him with his own lunch and eats quietly. He never has much to say, but Yixing doesn’t seem to mind. He says he just likes the company.

 

After a little while, Jongin finds himself opening up. They talk about flowers, about music, about food. On a day when he's feeling particularly daring, he asks Yixing about his life. Yixing tells him that he's a Libra, he's 25 (about two years older than Jongin), he's from Changsha, China. He moved to America 8 years ago with the intention of med school, but it didn't work out. He couldn't afford to return home once his father passed away, so instead he stayed here. He met some kind people, and with the help of a friend he opened the florist shop. 

 

Jongin doesn't really know what to say to that. It's a lot, and Jongin has never particularly shared much about his own life. 

 

Yixing must see him hesitate because suddenly he shares that lately he’s found himself growing awfully fond of sunflowers. He’s thinking about growing some for his apartment, but he’s not sure yet. 

 

Jongin doesn't really have a favorite flower, probably can't even identify any other than tulips because those are the type his mother likes, but for some reason he smiles and says that sunflowers are his favorite.

 

 

Other than stopping by to get his morning coffee, sometimes Yixing delivers arrangements.

 

Jongin somehow ends up holding the door open as Yixing carries a medium sized brown pot containing one of those vine plants that dangle over a shelf. Baekhyun is slouching over the counter with the expression of a lazy cat but brightens at the sight of him.

 

“Yixing! How is the most beautiful person in the entire universe?” He asks, using one of his arms as a pillow and smiling up at him.

 

Yixing steps behind the counter to place the plant on the shelf. With his back to Baekhyun, he replies, “I don’t know. How are you, Baekhyun?”

 

Jongin looks on, his arms crossed and leaning against the doorway, as Baekhyun chokes on air. “Don’t tease him too much, Yixing. He’s getting older now; I’m afraid he might have a heart attack.”

 

Yixing is smiling when he turns around, and he pats Baekhyun on the head. “I have more to bring over. Would you mind putting a wedge in the door, Nini?”

 

“No problem.” Jongin moves to find the little piece of wood that Minseok usually puts in the doorway. “But wouldn’t it be easier if someone helped you carry the plants? I could go with you so you don’t have to waste so much time.”

 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind spending time with my favorite baristos.” Yixing smiles up at him as he passes and pats him on the arm. “I’ll be right back.”

 

He heads out and back to his shop, and Baekhyun turns to snicker at him. “Nini?” he echoes, a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

“We never talk,” Jongin mumbles, although he eats lunch with Yixing quite often these days. “I never got the chance to correct him.” He hasn’t really decided whether or not he likes when Yixing calls him that. Minseok does it out of affection, but Baekhyun mostly uses the nickname to tease him. It draws mixed emotions.

 

“Oh, is _that_ why?” The look on Baekhyun’s face is all too knowing, so Jongin makes himself busy. There aren’t any customers other than a college kid using their wifi and nursing a chai latte, so Jongin starts brewing a new pot of coffee.

 

By the time Yixing finishes organizing the plants, Jongin is ready to strangle Baekhyun. The little shit keeps making eyes at him over Yixing's shoulder, making kissy faces and generally inappropriate gestures. Jongin gives Yixing a free coffee as a thank you for bringing all the plants over himself, and once he’s safely across the street, he snatches up the magazine Baekhyun is reading and passive-aggressively drops it on the floor.

 

“I’m taking my break,” he grumbles, taking off his apron and marching off to the kitchen to grab some food.

 

 

The original premise of buying the tiny cacti was that they were supposed to be easy to take care of. There’s that old saying “you’re so bad at gardening you could even kill a cactus” so Jongin figured even he, an irresponsible twenty-two year old manchild, could take care of a cactus.

 

Home was nice, sure, but it was so _empty_ and devoid of life. Jongin was starting to get stir-crazy. He questioned what he did before, but then he remembered that most of his time had been spent with Junmyeon. Actually, it seemed Junmyeon had taken up his whole world.

 

He felt pretty lonely with no significant other, no hobbies, and no yipping puppies to chase his ankles. He needed  _something_. 

 

He googled _closest place to buy a cactus_ along with the area code of his new apartment. Conveniently enough, there was a florist across the street from his New Friend/Boss Minseok’s cafe, so Jongin decided to stop by during his lunch break.

 

That was the first time he met Yixing. At that point, he was nothing more than the sleepy florist across the street. He seemed nice, and he gave Jongin a thorough set of instructions on how to take care of his new plant babies. Everything was so new, new, _new_ anymore. Jongin was overwhelmed, but Yixing smiled and said he could come back whenever he needed help.

 

Well, Jongin needs it now. He squints down at the plants on his window sill. The one in the center, his _favorite_ , is shrivelling. It couldn’t have been Pokey McPokerson or Stickly Prickerson III. _Of course_ it had to be Snuggles. He pouts. Is it because he didn’t give him enough hugs?

 

After briefly researching via Google what can cause a cactus to shrivel, it seems clear that he’s going to have to go ask Yixing. And Jongin, well, he knows that he can’t let his childishness get in the way of his baby’s future. He frowns the whole time he shoves his legs into a pair of pants and slips on a pair of sneakers. _This is for Snuggles_ , he repeats to himself over and over as he heads to the elevator, clutching his mini cactus to his chest.

 

The sign outside Yixing’s shop says _closed_. Jongin doesn’t know what to do. It makes sense that the florist would be closed on a Sunday, but he doesn’t want to come back tomorrow when Snuggles’s life is on the line. Plus, he walked all the way here and it's chilly today.

 

He plops down on the curb, holding Snuggles delicately by the pot with both hands. “It’s okay, Snuggles. We’re gonna get you some help,” he says, maybe more for his own benefit than the plant’s. He tries to smile, but it’s uncomfortable, so Jongin ends up pouting down at his plant for like twenty minutes before he hears footsteps approaching.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” a familiar voice asks.

 

Jongin stands up so quickly he almost falls over, but it doesn’t matter, not when Yixing is here to save the life of his beloved Snuggles the Cactus. “You’re here,” he says, breathless.

 

“I am?” Yixing is confused, rightfully so, as he looks at the mini cactus being extended towards him. He isn’t really dressed for work. He’s in a pair of basketball shorts and a cut off, earbuds dangling around his neck.

 

“You’re sweaty,” Jongin realizes, bringing Snuggles back to his chest to protect him from any falling bodily fluids. “Why are you sweaty?”

 

“I’m on a run,” he answers, but the hesitation doesn’t leave his voice. “Why are you sitting outside my shop?”

 

“Snuggles,” Jongin explains dumbly, presenting the plant. “He’s wilting.”

 

“He?” Yixing’s eyebrows furrow.

 

“Cactus has a masculine ending so I―” Jongin stops himself. This isn’t the time. “I just didn’t know what to do, and you said…” He feels kind of dumb now that he’s here. Of course Yixing is gonna send him away. It’s his day off, and he’s _busy_. Why would he stop his life to tend to Jongin’s cactus?

 

“I said you could come back if you needed help,” Yixing finishes, realization dawning on him. He fishes around his pocket, and Jongin thinks that’s it, that Yixing is gonna call the cops on him for trespassing, but then he produces a key. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal. You don’t need to worry.”

 

Yixing lets him in and leaves him by the counter so he can wash his face before the sweat cools. Jongin stands there for a second, unsure of what to do, but then Yixing is back.

 

“So, he’s wilting?” he asks as he enters the room. He reaches for Snuggles, so Jongin hands him to him. “How often have you been watering him?”

 

“Um…” Sometimes Jongin forgets whether or not he’s watered them, and he ends up watering them twice or even three times in one day. That makes him seem forgetful, though, and he doesn’t want Yixing to think he’s unreliable (even though he is). “I’ve just been following the instructions you gave me.”

 

“Right.” Yixing doesn’t sound condescending or judgmental, just continues to examine the plant. Jongin wonders what he sees when he looks at him―er, Snuggles, not himself. This about the plant. His plant baby. “Could you grab me those scissors?” he asks, gesturing to the weird scissors on the table by the door. Their handles are long and green, leading into a pair of blades that remind Jongin of a bird’s beak.

 

As he passes them over, their fingers brush. Jongin looks at Yixing to see if he’s reacted, but he’s still looking at Snuggles. He can’t believe he’s jealous of a cactus.

 

Rather abruptly, Yixing dumps Snuggles and all of his soil out on the counter. Jongin isn’t jealous anymore. Most of Snuggles’s roots are white, but there are others intermingling with various shades of brown.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jongin demands because Yixing does not look as happy as he did thirty seconds ago.

 

“It’s nothing,” he says quickly, smiling. He has dimples. Jongin likes dimples. “He isn't wilting.  He'll be fine; I just have to cut off the dark roots.”

 

“You’re gonna cut off Snuggles’s roots?” Jongin asks incredulously. “But won’t that hurt him?”

 

Yixing has this look on his face like he’s trying not to laugh, but Jongin sees through it. “Look, it’s Nini, right?”

 

He makes a face. “Jongin.”

 

“Okay, Jongin,” Yixing tests it out. “Think of it like this: when you have bad people in your life, you cut them out, right?” Jongin nods. “I’m cutting the bad roots out of Snuggles’s life. He’s hurting right now, so I’m gonna make him feel better.”

 

Jongin is still frowning, but he nods. “Okay, but be gentle.”

 

 

Yixing takes about ten minutes to finish pruning Snuggles’s roots. It would have been faster, as Snuggles _is_ a mini cactus, but Jongin won’t stop stressing out about every snip of the scissors ("Can't you be more gentle! How would _you_ like it if I cut off your arm?"). When it’s finally over, Jongin is sweating.

 

“Okay, Jongin, here’s my advice,” Yixing begins as he fills a new pot with soil. “I told you before that your cacti only need to be watered once a week, but you’ve clearly been over-watering Snuggles.”

 

Jongin is embarrassed, feels his face heat up from being found out.

 

“Have you considered setting a reminder on your phone? Or even putting a little calendar on the wall that you can check off when you water them?” Yixing tucks Snuggles into his dirt with careful, delicate fingers. “Generally, you don’t need to water cacti until the top half-inch feels dry. You’re gonna want to make sure all the soil is moist―”

 

Jongin inwardly cringes.

 

“―and it’s okay if water drips out of the drainage holes on the bottom of the pot. Just make sure the excess doesn’t sit because that can cause your cactus to rot, kind of like what just happened.”

 

“Okay,” he mumbles timidly, accepting Snuggles. Holding his pot kind of makes Jongin feel better about being scolded. At least his favorite child is safe again.

 

“If anything else happens, feel free to come back, okay?” Yixing smiles that stupid smile with the dimples and the pretty teeth and Jongin has to look away.

 

“Okay.” Jongin heads towards the door, but just before he exits, he hesitates. “Thank you, Yixing.” He smiles over his shoulder.

 

It’s not until he’s halfway home that he realizes he never paid for Yixing’s help.

 

 

The next day, Jongin is ready to see Yixing. After he’d gone home, he researched all about mini cacti and how to treat them properly so he won’t make another mistake. He even thinks he’s prepared to take on some other plants. He’s done making Baekhyun cover for him. No more switching shifts, no more hiding. He mans his station at the register and waits. And waits. And waits.

 

Zhang Yixing, a regular who has frequented Minseok’s cafe every day since its grand opening, has not come for his morning coffee.

 

It’s okay, Jongin says to himself (and later to his cacti when he gets home). He was probably busy today. There’s no reason to panic.

 

But then another day passes. And another. And another. It’s been a whole week since Yixing has visited the cafe, and Jongin is worried.

 

Did he scare him off with all his plant baby talk? Is Yixing avoiding _him_ now?

 

Jongin frowns down at Snuggles. “This is your fault,” he accuses him, but then he realizes he’s being stupid. Why does he care? He doesn’t like Yixing, not really. He’s just the boring florist. The boring florist with the good hair and the dimples and the nice butt.

 

 

On the tenth day of no Yixing, Sehun snaps. “If you’re so torn up about not seeing him, why don’t you just _go_? His shop is across the damn street.”

 

Jongin frowns. “Hey, there are kids here. There’s no need for bad language.”

 

Lu Han snorts. “Really, though, Jongin. Just go to his shop. Go see what’s going on,” he says without looking up from the pastry he’s icing. Sehun nods in agreement.

 

Jongin rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Sehun, if you aren’t gonna be on my side, you can go home. You didn’t even pay for your drink.”

 

But they’re right. He’s doing that thing again where he doesn’t go after what he wants. So, he brews Yixing’s regular order and grabs a few cookies to take over with him, and then he goes.

 

There’s a pink sign on the florist’s door. Something about arrangements and rush orders. Jongin doesn’t really read it before he enters the building. Per usual, it smells like soil and fertilizer and _flowers_. The scent is so distinctly Yixing that Jongin has to take a moment.

 

“I’ll be right there,” he hears Yixing call from somewhere in the back.

 

Jongin walks up to the counter and places his peace offering down. There’s no reason to be nervous, he tells himself. It’s just the boring florist.

 

When Yixing turns the corner, Jongin is stunned. He looks _tired_. His eyebags are dark, and he has soil streaked across his cheek. His gloves are stained so dark that Jongin can only tell their original color from memory, and his dark-wash jeans have mud all over the knees.

 

“Jongin!” He’s clearly surprised to see him. “What are you doing here? Is Snuggles okay?”

 

He flushes. Of course Yixing would remember his embarrassing name for his cactus. “He’s fine. I just haven’t seen you in a few days, so I thought I would bring you a coffee.”

 

“Really?” He looks touched. “Thank you! How much should I give you?” He takes off one of his gloves and reaches in his pocket for his money, but Jongin shakes his head.

 

“It’s on the house. Just… a perk for my―I mean, _our_ favorite regular.” Smooth. Yixing doesn’t seem to have noticed his mistake. “I brought cookies too, but please don’t feel the need to pay.”

 

“Wow! You really are the best baristo in town.” Yixing puts his gloves on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you wanna stay and talk for a while since you came all the way over?”

 

Jongin laughs. “I was right across the street. It’s no big deal.” He pauses. He really _does_ want to stay and chat, but he’s not sure what to say. The hour he spent researching flowers has gone to waste.

 

“Come on. Grab one of those chairs,” he gestures to the pretty black lattice stools in the corner, “and we can go eat in the garden.”

 

The garden is beautiful, way more so than Jongin expected it to be. He’s never seen it behind Yixing’s building, but there’s a large expanse of land behind the florist’s filled with all sorts of flowers. There’s a glass patio table next to the door, so Yixing moves it to a comfortable location.

 

“So,” Jongin says once they’re seated. “What have you been up to?”

 

“Oh, you know. This and that.” Yixing smiles as he takes a mouthful of one of the chocolate chip cookies. “There’s this big festival coming up soon, and I was called in to make an arrangement.”

 

“Really?” Jongin’s lips make a perfect ‘o’ shape. “That’s so cool! All those people are gonna see your work.”

 

“Yeah. That’s why I have to work really hard.” He gestures to the wide array of flowers. “I’m a smaller florist. These days, they sell flowers all over the place: department stores, supermarkets. You could probably get them at a home store like Lowe’s.” After taking a long drink of his coffee, his eyes seem to brighten. “There’s a bigger florist across town, so I don’t want them to upstage me.”

 

Jongin nods. “That makes sense. But the board chose you, didn’t they? That means that they know you’re better.”

 

As he laughs, years seem to melt away from his tired face. “It’s not a matter of who’s better. It’s whoever works the hardest.” His fingers, long and thin, trail along the edges of the cookie before he breaks it and half and offers Jongin a piece.

 

He accepts it. “Yeah, that’s true.” Yixing kind of seems like the type to work himself into the ground. Jongin hopes he’s been eating this past week. “It’s no reason to neglect your health, though. You look terrible.”

 

Yixing snorts. “Thanks, Jongin. But you don't need to worry about me.” He runs his fingers along the lid of his cup, ignoring Jongin's protest. “I’m almost done. The festival is this weekend.”

 

“Oh?” Jongin thinks he would like to see it, but he’s not sure who he should go with. Maybe alone? But he always ends up getting hit on by strangers when he’s on his own.

 

“Yeah.” Yixing presses his finger against the edge of the lid. “Will I see you there?”

 

“Um.” That sort of sounds like a date, and Jongin also sort of hopes it is. “Yeah, absolutely.”

 

 

Jongin shouldn’t be nervous for his first date with Yixing. Is it a date? He’s not sure. He doesn’t even really like the guy―not like he liked his first boyfriend, Taemin, or his last boyfriend, Junmyeon. Yixing is just a normal dude who runs a flower shop and brings Jongin roses on rainy days to combat his moodiness and makes him laugh. He’s really… no big deal. So why has he been pacing back and forth for the past 20 minutes?

 

“You look hot,” Sehun says as his own means of tending to Jongin’s nerves. “I’m sure Yixing will love this whole ulzzang thing you’ve got going on.”

 

Jongin moves to stand in front of the mirror to look at himself and Monggu barks in approval from her spot on Sehun’s lap.

 

He wants to flop down on the floor and scream into the carpet, but doing so would wrinkle his freshly pressed pants (mental reminder: thank Junmyeon for teaching him how to iron) so he settles for pouting and hugging a pillow to his chest in the most pitiful way possible.

 

“Do you think Yixing likes me?” he asks after a long pause, eyebrows furrowed like a confused puppy as he plops down on the floor.

 

“He asked you out, didn’t he?”

 

Jongin clamps his mouth shut. Yixing did, in fact, ask him on a date. It was out of his own free will and everything. So, Jongin straightens his jacket and tucks in the front of his shirt. Maybe this won’t be a total disaster. There’s no reason for him to be so worried.

 

“Where do you think we’ll go after?” Jongin had assumed he should dress nicely but not to the extent that it would seem like he was trying too hard. Will they go for an expensive dinner? To see a show in the city? He and Junmyeon used to go on all sorts of fancy dates.

 

Sehun opens his mouth to respond, but then the doorbell rings and Jongin is tripping over his expensive shoes to get to the door.

 

Yixing is standing outside his door wearing a soft grey hoodie, jeans, and dirty sneakers. It's a good thing that Jongin is a good actor; it takes a moment to reign in his disgust. For a moment, he doesn’t want to let him in, is afraid that he’ll track mud on the floor.

 

“Hi, Jongin,” Yixing hums. “Are you ready?”

 

The _are **you** ready_ is at the tip of Jongin’s tongue, but he just stares at the frayed string hanging from Yixing’s hood for a few seconds before nodding.

 

 

The walk to the festival is quiet. Jongin is embarrassed that Yixing didn’t dress up and also a little embarrassed that he did in the first place. Yixing doesn’t bring it up, and he’s grateful.

 

Spring has officially sprung. The rainy season is over, and the cherry blossoms have bloomed. Jongin gazes at the pretty pink flowers as they walk, and he thinks that he’d like to paint them sometime.

 

“Are you nervous?” Jongin asks finally. Yixing looks at him. “For everyone to see your work, I mean. You were pretty worried before.”

 

He hums. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve done everything I could, so all I can do is hope for the best.” He sounds so content with his work. Jongin wishes he could be like that.

 

He doesn't really know what to say, so after a moment of silence, Jongin offers a simple, "I bet you'll do great."

 

 

And Yixing does. His flower arrangements are beautiful. Jongin doesn’t know that much about them, can’t identify any of their names and has to refer to them as “the red flower” or “the orange one with the yellow flecks,” but Yixing doesn’t mind. He’s happy to have anyone appreciate them.

 

To congratulate him on his accomplishment, Jongin decides to win him a plush prize. It only takes around eight tries (and bribing the booth attendant) to win the white plushie of Baymax from Big Hero 6. Yixing spends the rest of the night hugging it to his chest, and Jongin can’t stop smiling and thinking that he did that, that Yixing is happy because of him.

 

 

“ _Hey!_ Can’t you pay attention to me? I stayed up to make sure you got home safe and everything.”

 

Sehun is frowning, and usually Jongin isn’t the type to constantly be checking his phone. In fact, he usually misplaces it because he uses it so rarely. Once it ended up in a carton of eggs, only to be found when Minseok opened it to make dinner. He knows he should put it away, apologize to Sehun and recall the details of the night to him since he was kind enough to wait up.

 

Instead, he’s anxiously waiting for his phone to charge enough to turn back on so he can see if Yixing has texted him at all.

 

Which is fine. If he doesn’t, he means. It’s totally okay if he doesn’t text him because he literally just dropped him off 12 minutes ago and he’s not one of those crazy people who demand a text every three seconds.

 

But then again, it would be nice to have a text because he can distinctly remember the smell of Yixing, like cherry blossoms and the chocolate dessert they shared, as he walked him up to the apartment building’s doors. He’d smiled at him, so charming and full of life. _“Goodnight,”_ he whispered, his voice slightly shaking before he pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. Jongin barely had time to process before he was giving him a gummy smile and waving goodbye with one arm and hugging his plushie to his chest with the other. All the while, Yixing didn’t even look him in the eye, almost as if he was nervous. Like he was making him nervous.

 

So, yes, a text would be nice, but then again Jongin will see Yixing on Monday anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. He leaves his phone to charge and hangs up his blazer on the coat rack by the door. After taking off his pants, he changes his shirt and returns to the living room, leaving his clothes in a balled up mess on his bedroom floor.

 

He plops down on the couch next to Sehun in a t-shirt and boxers. “Thanks for staying,” he says, wrapping himself in the fluffy blanket he always leaves on the floor.

 

“I ate all your ramen,” Sehun mumbles in response, baiting him.

 

“That’s okay,” Jongin answers through a yawn as he leans his head against his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll buy more tomorrow.”

 

Sehun nods, flicking through the channels on the TV before settling on a rerun of _Friends_. And just like that, Jongin falls asleep.

 

 

For the next few days, things are surprisingly peaceful at the cafe. Jongin doesn’t acknowledge Baekhyun’s teasing, spill any drinks, or drop any food on his way to tables. It’s like… he’s finally getting the hang of things.

 

More and more customers are arriving, crowding around to see the handsome new baristo. Jongin handles them with a sparkling smile, and in return he gets a generous amount of tips.

 

It’s all good.... Until Yixing arrives.

 

On Tuesday, he trips when Yixing greets him, dumping the entire pot of coffee on himself. Baekhyun helps him clean it up, but he’s stuck wearing damp clothes for the rest of his shift. On Wednesday, he’s delivering the coffee to Yixing’s table when he accidentally spills the coffee all over Yixing’s shirt. He’s expecting to be told off, but Yixing just smiles and pats him on the head.

 

It’s kind of... Painful. For both Jongin and the spectators. He’s so painfully awkward around Yixing now, and he doesn’t know what to do. Yixing hasn’t treated Jongin any differently than before, is still as kind and courteous as ever, so for a little while Jongin entertains the idea that he _imagined_ the kiss.

 

It doesn’t really matter anyway. Jongin wasn’t really interested in Yixing in the first place; he’s just the boring florist across the road.

 

At least, that’s what Jongin keeps telling himself.

 

 

 

After reading up on sunflowers, Jongin decides that he wants to grow some. He doesn't remember where the idea came from, but he can't help but think about it. There’s a breed that shouldn’t grow more than around 10 inches and he thinks they’ll perfectly liven up his tiny apartment. However, he’s embarrassed himself in front of Yixing enough times the past few weeks to decide that he would rather get the seeds and supplies from the bigger florist across town.

 

The second he steps into the shop, he feels guilty. He turns around to head back to his apartment, but there’s an employee on his way in.

 

“Hi! Can I help you?”

 

“Um.” Jongin frowns. The stranger is shorter than him, but he’s also kind of strong looking. Jongin probably wouldn’t be able to fight him; his biceps are much more defined than Jongin's noodle arms. “I don’t know. I’m just…”

 

“Looking?” the man prompts. “That’s fine! Do you have anything in mind?” He isn’t smiling, not quite, but the edges of his mouth are curled up at the end anyway. He looks kind of… mischievous. Cat-like somehow.

 

“I, um,” Jongin mentally scolds himself for saying _um_ so much, “was thinking about planting some sunflowers, but for… inside my apartment? Do you have that type? The small ones?”

 

“Sure! Follow me.” He smiles for real this time, and for a fleeting moment Jongin considers the notion that this stranger is beautiful. Not by his typical standards, but beautiful nonetheless. “I’m Jongdae, by the way. What’s your name?”

 

“I’m Jongin,” he replies as he follows Jongdae around the store. He congratulates himself for finishing a response without the word _um_.

 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jongin. How big do you want these sunflowers to be?” Jongdae leads him into a row of sunflowers, all in those mini cardboard pots for transport.

 

Jongin looks around with hesitant eyes. “How tall will these be?” he asks, gesturing to a sunflower that’s orange in the center but becomes more yellow towards the petal’s tip.

 

“Maybe 36 inches,” Jongdae says, giving them a once over. “Give or take, of course. It depends on how you grow them. The warmer it is, the more likely it’ll be to expand. If you keep it cooler, it might dwarf.”

 

He’s not exactly sure what that means, but he likes their petals. “I’ll take them.”

 

36 inches is too tall for his window sill, but he could probably put them out on the fire escape when they grow to be too tall. He listens as Jongdae explains basic care, quick and concise and... detached. He can't help but think that the florist has little love for his craft. It may be an unfair judgement; everyone has different personalities and mannerisms. But he's just so...  _not Yixing._  

 

He curses himself for thinking of him, but Yixing has rarely left his mind from the second he entered the store. However, it's too late now. He's in too deep. He has to buy the flowers. Jongin ends up placing the pot in the sunny spot in his living room for now but makes a mental note to ask his landlord for permission. He doesn’t plan on starting any fires soon, so he doesn’t think it’ll matter too much. 

 

When Sehun comes over the next day, he takes one look at the pot and shakes his head. He doesn't have to say it; Jongin already knows what he's thinking. 

 

 

 

“So,” Yixing says over lunch on a gloomy Wednesday. “Do you have Saturday off?”

 

Jongin chokes on his sandwich. “U-Uh, yes?” Is he about to get asked on a date? Finally? After all this time?

 

“Would you wanna come somewhere with me?” Yixing asks. “I was thinking─”

 

“Yes,” Jongin replies before he can finish. “I’d love to.”

 

He blinks. Once. Twice. “Oh,” he mumbles. If Jongin didn't know better, he would think Yixing was flustered. “Well, I’ll come to get you around four.”

 

Jongin nods, probably too enthusiastically. “Yeah! Of course.”

 

Things go back to normal. Jongin is minimally spilling things, the customers are leaving good tips, and he and Yixing are speaking well. Finally, he feels validated. Yixing must like him. Otherwise, why would he invite him out on a date? Hopefully it’s a date.

 

Friday morning, the cafe is pretty much empty. Yixing leans against the counter as he waits for his drink. “So, I’ll bring everything we need, okay? Just make sure to wear comfortable clothes because you’re probably gonna sweat.”

 

Jongin doesn’t know what that means, but he hopes it’s good. “Okay! Where are we going?”

 

Yixing opens his mouth to reply, but then─

 

“ _Hey, barista bro!_ ”

 

Jongin looks up from the coffee machine to see his sunflower dealer waving at him and quickly approaching. He quickly averts his gaze.

 

“It’s Jongin, right?” Jongdae asks, completely ignoring Yixing.

 

“Um, yeah. Hi, Jongdae.” He quickly turns back to the machine, but he has a bad feeling that this isn’t where the conversation ends.

 

“I didn’t know you worked here!” Jongdae’s gaze flickers from Jongin to Yixing who’s standing nearby and waiting for his order. “Wow, you’re all the way on the other side of town.” There’s a question in his voice, and Jongin doesn’t like it.

 

“Yep.” He pops the lid onto Yixing’s to-go cup. “There you go,” he says, pushing the drink across the counter to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

The look on Yixing’s face is unreadable. He looks from Jongin to Jongdae and then nods. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiles before he goes, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

 

Jongin doesn’t know if it’s sweat or tears he’s wiping from his eyes. His heart is pounding. He just has to hold on a little bit longer.

 

“It’s beautiful today, right?” Yixing looks at peace with the universe. Meanwhile, Jongin is struggling to keep up even with his relaxed pace.

 

“Um,” he wheezes. “Yeah. Beautiful.” Or something. Jongin still doesn't understand why this was Yixing’s idea of a good time. What ever happened to dinner and a movie? Hiking at 5am is a bit much if you ask him.

 

“Come on, Nini. Just a little more,” Yixing hums. His voice is full of warmth and encouragement and Jongin has never hated anyone so much in his entire life.

 

Hiking. Who goes hiking on a date? He huffs and speeds up as best as his wobbly legs can manage. Why did he quit the gym? What made him think that after ten years of dancing and exercising regularly he was prepared for such a harsh world?

 

He’s almost settled into the numb rhythm of one foot in front of another and swatting bugs away when suddenly, he hears Yixing’s sharp intake of breath and finds himself pressed up against Yixing’s backpack.

 

“A little warning next time,” Jongin complains, but the latter isn’t listening.

 

“We made it,” Yixing says, always so calm and collected. Jongin tries to imagine some excitement in his voice.

 

They are at the top of the mountain. It’s still a little dark, and their town is still asleep. From all the way up here, it seems so small, like looking down on an ant hill.

 

When he finally tears his gaze away, Yixing is setting down a blanket for them to sit. Jongin helps him to stretch out the sheet and opens Yixing’s backpack to look for water.

 

“You brought snacks?” Jongin frowns at the trail mix and granola bars. It’s the gross trail mix, the one with no chocolate in it. Why does Yixing hate himself? And the granola bars are just that: granola and some walnuts. Jongin hates walnuts.

 

“Yeah! Grab some if you’re hungry.”

 

“No, I’m good.” He empties the food and organizes it on the blanket for Yixing. He’s so exhausted after that long walk, he could probably fall asleep right here.

 

Yixing grabs one of the granola bars and takes a bite, humming in satisfaction. “Isn’t it amazing up here?”

 

It’s calm out here. Away from the city, the air feels lighter, easier to breathe. It’s freeing somehow to be disconnected. Jongin doesn’t want to admit it, but the hike was worth it.

 

 

“I just need to change,” he says as he unlocks the door to his apartment. “You can come inside if you want. I’ll be fast.”

 

Yixing hums something like “Take your time” as he steps inside, so Jongin hurries into his room to change out of his sweaty clothes into something more presentable. He settles on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans that make his legs look good before slipping on a pair of converse.

 

When he returns to the living room, Yixing is looking at some of Jongin’s canvas that were haphazardly littered around after Sehun was over last time. He freezes, but Yixing asks, “You paint?” so there is no escape. He's looking at a recent one that he tried to do of his new sunflowers. It's, in summary, complete and utter shit.

 

“A little bit,” he answers, but his response curves up at the end like a question. Jongin moves towards the door. “Let’s get going. We should stop by yours so you can change too before dinner.”

 

“Wait, these are really good.” Yixing leans in the read the tiny words comprising one of his pictures. “You should do something with these. Have you considered art as a profession?”

 

Ah, there it is. Exactly what Jongin was trying to avoid. Yixing looks utterly in awe of his work. There’s that feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one that used to fill his heart with hope for the future. Now it just makes him anxious.

 

“I, um,” he fidgets, so terribly uncomfortable with no means of escape. “I went to art school?” He squints down at his sneakers. There’s a smudge of dirt on the inside of his left shoe along the rubber. “It’s not a big deal. Can we go now?”

 

Yixing finally looks away from the pictures and to Jongin’s face. Something must register because he clears his throat and nods. As he turns his head, he catches sight of the pot of sunflowers by his window. Something like realization flashes in his eyes, and his smile falters. “Yes, of course. Let’s go.”

 

Before Jongin closes the door, he shoots his apartment a fleeting glance. His chest is tight, as if he's experienced a great loss that he can't identify. He takes a deep breath and prepares for everything to shatter around him. 

 

 

For a whole week, Jongin doesn’t see Yixing. He switches with Baekhyun so he has the evening shift, and when he sees Yixing leave the florist around six, he hides in the kitchen so he can’t be seen. Truthfully, he’s not sure why he’s being like this. Then again, he has been cited for running away from his feelings.

 

Perhaps it’s because he’s been acting so strange, but Minseok ends up giving Jongin the weekend off again for healing. He hasn’t really earned it, or at least he doesn’t think he has, but once Minseok gets something in his head, there’s no arguing.

 

So, Jongin has the next two days to himself. He keeps thinking about Yixing, about how excited he was about Jongin’s work. He hasn’t drawn in awhile, not since he and Junmyeon broke up, but he thinks that maybe, just maybe, today could be the day.

 

He gathers up his supplies and plops down in his living room. It doesn’t have to be anything too difficult, he thinks as he spreads his materials out around him. Maybe it could just be… a portrait? Humming, he opens up Google and searches _aesthetic_. After all, he is what he would like to think of as a simple guy.

 

He finds a lot of tumblr edits, some bright colors, some badly photoshopped pictures. He sees a picture of a lineart and thinks of his old days when he was a fan of that one idol… What was his name?

 

Oh, that’s right. Gikwang. When Jongin searches his name, he can’t help but smile at the sight of the familiar face. Jongin owes him his entrance into art school.

 

Jongin types in _Lee Gikwang aesthetic_ and scrolls for a while, examining each picture and the features they highlight. God, he isn’t fucking real. Jongin’s heart nuts whenever he looks at the guy. His infatuation may have ended, but Gikwang’s smile still makes his soul happy.

 

After centuries of Jongin admiring Gikwang’s beautiful face, he settles on a picture and starts to outline it. He’s not sure what he’s feeling today― painting or sketching or micrography. Anything is possible, really, when he has the whole day ahead of him.

 

It feels nice to have nowhere to be, to just _draw_. The outline doesn’t take too long; he barely has to glance at the original photo other than to reference the lighting. Even after all these years, he knows Gikwang’s face like the back of his hand. After mapping everything out, he starts sharpening his lines, darkening them, making it seem less like a sheet of sketchbook paper and more like a person. He smooths the edges and renders the shadows and brightens the reflection of the camera in his muse’s eyes.

 

He loses track of time in the eyes, taking special care to shade them just right. There’s something so beautiful in his expression, in the tilt of the eyebrows and the curve of the lips. It makes his heart flutter with a sort of affection that he’s forgotten, that used to consume him and fill him with hope. There’s a warmth in his chest that spreads through his body and causes his lips to shift into a smile. Looking at him, observing him, drawing him― it makes him feel like a teenager again.

 

Jongin has always been an artist. He drew from the second he had a medium. It wasn’t always good, but it was enough. There was always something about the act of it, of making something out of nothing, that made Jongin’s heart feel at rest. Art used to be a hobby, something he did to calm his racing pulse. When the ocean became too rough to swim in, art was his anchor that kept him grounded to the shore.

 

He used to draw for hours, stay up until 4am on school nights to finish. They weren’t all masterpieces, but all it took was one.

 

He was a freshman when he started drawing idols, a sophomore when he started drawing Lee Gikwang, a junior when he was invited to apply to an art school.

 

Jongin blinks, and suddenly before him is a picture. His muse’s eyes gaze up through the haze of graphite and eraser shavings, and he feels a swell of pride. He isn’t lost. He still has it.

 

He doesn’t need Kim Junmyeon and his pretty jawline and his round cheeks. He doesn’t need Junmyeon’s goofy smile and his clumsy behavior and his constant worrying over his well being.

 

He’s fine all on his own.

 

 

On Monday, Yixing stops by after Jongin’s shift to invite him to dinner. He seems nervous, like he's afraid that Jongin will disappear again.  But it's okay: Jongin is done running.

They end up at the Italian restaurant in town, a family owned business. The man standing by the entrance with the menus is this tall guy with that Jongin thinks he’s seen around before. Jongin is wary of him at first, but Yixing greets him with kindness so he figures he must be okay.

 

He seats them at a small booth in the back of the restaurant. The walls are strung with fairy lights and the windows overlook the garden. It’s cute, like something out of an aesthetic Instagram feed.

 

“What can I get you guys?” Chanyeol asks, tapping his notepad with a tiny pencil.

 

“Um,” Jongin frowns. Usually wine would be his drink of choice, and he has a feeling he’s gonna need it to get through the night. Unfortunately, the last time he and Yixing were together with alcohol, things went south. “I’ll take… an iced tea?” He makes a face. “With lemon?”

 

“Sweetened or unsweetened?”

 

“Sweetened.” He glares down at his menu.

 

“I’ll take a water. Thank you.” As Chanyeol walks away, Yixing turns his attention back to Jongin. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Jongin mumbles.

 

“Are you still thinking about the art stuff? I’m sorry for bringing it up if it makes you uncomfortable.” Yixing rubs the back of his neck, sheepish.

 

“No, it’s okay.” Jongin doesn’t know why he’s being like this. Yixing seems so regretful, and he hasn’t even done anything wrong. Jongin figures he should probably talk about it. He doesn’t want this to become a problem. “I just… I used to draw a lot, but I don’t much anymore.”

 

“Is it okay if I ask why?” Yixing asks. He’s wearing that grey hoodie with the frayed drawstrings, and his hands are hidden within the sleeves like paws. He looks so soft in that moment; he probably could have asked him anything and Jongin would have given an honest answer.

 

“I guess… I used to love art? But when I was invited to apply to an actual art school, I was still young. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do, so I picked Game Art and Design,” Jongin begins, tracing circles along the wood table with his index finger. “At that point, I didn’t have a voice or any source of inspiration. It was just me and my micron pens and my portfolio full of pictures that I couldn’t replicate.”

 

Chanyeol arrives with their drinks, and this time Jongin spares him a smile and a polite “thank you.” He says he’ll return for their orders in a few minutes, and once he’s safely out of range, Jongin continues.

 

“One day, I was in the quad. I couldn’t get the hang of sketching real life models, so I was drawing people as they passed by. There was this upperclassman, though, sitting at a table with his friends. He was handsome, so I drew him. I didn’t realize I was being obvious, but after his friends left, he came to talk to me.”

 

Yixing’s eyebrows draw together, but he doesn’t speak, just sips at his glass of water.

 

"I guess he... became my muse? I don't know. We spent two years together; we moved in together, painted together,  _lived_  together. We even adopted dogs." Jongin frowns, staring somewhere behind Yixing. 

 

"And then he graduated. I went out with him and his family after the ceremony, and then afterwards he dropped me off at our apartment and said to me:  _Sorry, Jongin. It's been fun, but it's time to grow up_. Now he's engaged to the daughter of some CEO."

 

Yixing sputters. “What?”

 

Jongin nods. He hasn’t told anyone what happened between him and Junmyeon until now. Instead, he always claimed it was the distance that broke them up.

 

“Is that why you stopped drawing, then?” Yixing reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of Jongin’s, stilling his movement and his thoughts.

 

"Well, it was. There was a lot of stuff I didn't want to face, I guess." He's been looking everywhere but him, but now he meets Yixing's eyes. "I've started again, though. I realized I had to stop moping over something I can't change."

 

"Nini―"

 

"No use in crying over spilt milk, right?"

 

Yixing looks like he wants to say more, but Jongin smiles, and the words die in his throat. There's a lightness in his gaze that Yixing has never seen before, and it takes his breath away.

 

“So,” Jongin changes the subject. “Do you know what kind of flowers these are?”

 

Yixing’s gaze flickers to the little metal bucket at the end of the table. It has two stems of tiny blue flowers. “Those are Hyacinth,” he answers.

 

His smile widens. “Hyacinth,” he echoes.

 

“There’s a Greek myth about these, actually,” Yixing continues, running his fingers delicately along the petals of one of the flowers. “There was this young boy named Hyakinthos. He was favored by both Apollo and Zephyr, and the two fought for his attention.”

 

“Ah, really?” Jongin leans in, his interests piqued.

 

“One day, Apollo was showing him how to throw discus. But Zephyr, in a jealous rage, blew the winds so that the discus flew back and killed Hyakinthos.”

 

Jongin laughs out loud in disbelief of the turn of the tale. “Talk about a bad breakup.”

 

His smile is so lovely, Yixing finds himself smiling in return. “The flowers that grew from his blood were therefore known as Hyacinth. They symbolize sports in the world of flowers, but these ones specifically stand for sincerity.”

 

“Sincerity, huh?” Jongin squeezes Yixing’s hand, and for the first time in a long time, he feels as though things are going to be okay okay.

 

 

Tuesday is another rainy day, and Yixing brings him some pretty red flowers with lots of petals.

 

“This is called an Aster,” he says as Jongin arranges it in a vase. “In Greek mythology, the goddess Astraea wept over the scarcity of stars in the sky. When her tears fell to the ground, they formed these.”

 

“Wow,” Jongin hums as he places the vase next to the cash register. “It’s so beautiful.” He leans against the counter, looking up at Yixing from under his eyelashes.

 

Yixing clears his throat, and Jongin tells himself that he’s imagining the flush on his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

“I always like when you tell me stories,” Jongin replies thoughtfully. “You’re so smart. I can’t believe you remember all that stuff.”

 

Yixing is definitely flustered. “I’m really not. I just like reading about flowers.”

 

“Don’t sell yourself short.” He smiles up at him. The flowers are beautiful, but he finds himself thinking that Yixing is even better.

 

 

Today, Jongin gets to pick what they do, and he plans on taking advantage of it. No hiking at 4am, no 5k runs, no wandering around gardens while wearing 500 dollar shoes.

 

Today, they’re gonna watch a movie. Jongin makes ramen and buys lots of snacks, even the gross healthy ones that Yixing likes. He puts on his favorite sweatpants and a sweater and settles down next to him on the couch.

 

First they watch the Spongebob Squarepants movie, as it’s Jongin’s favorite. Yixing doesn’t even curve the suggestion, just smiles down at his ramen and watches quietly. Jongin is willing away the tears as Spongebob and Patrick sing their final goodbye when he looks over and realizes Yixing has fallen asleep! He gasps and elbows him in disbelief.

 

“Yixing! You’re missing the most important part!” He can’t believe he hasn’t been paying attention to the best movie in the entire universe.

 

“Huh?” Yixing is drowsy, and he looks up at him in surprise. “What happened?”

 

“Ugh.” He whacks him with a pillow. “Do you wanna pick the movie after this?”

 

Yixing nods, and he politely pays attention to the rest of the movie (“It was good based on what I was awake for!”). Then, as the ending credits play, he closes the movie and opens the guide.

 

Jongin checks his phone while he looks. He has like seven unimportant messages from Baekhyun and one from Sehun telling him to stay safe, featuring a winky face that Jongin chooses to ignore.

 

“Hey, how about this one?”

 

Jongin looks up. He’s never seen this movie, but it’s probably supposed to be scary. He hates scary movies. This is a bad idea.

 

Yixing looks interested, though, so Jongin finds himself saying, “Um, if you wanna.”

 

 

“It’s getting kind of late,” Yixing says as the ending credits roll.

 

Jongin looks at him from around the pillow he’s been using for protection from the demons. “Can’t you stay a little longer?” He’s doing the puppy eyes, the ones that always guarantee him discounts at stores and free food at restaurants.

 

Yixing groans. His eyes are saying that this is a bad idea, but he caves anyway. “Okay,” he says. “But only until you calm down. We both have work tomorrow.”

 

Jongin nods quickly, satisfied. “Of course.” He tightens his grip on his blanket. “Do you think you could just―” He wants to cuddle in his bed, to be honest, but he knows the last time they were there things didn’t go too well.

 

Yixing seems to understand what he wants but he isn’t too sure what to do either, so he scooches over on the couch to be closer. Jongin lets him into his blanket cocoon, and Yixing drapes an arm around his shoulder.

 

Yixing may be shorter than Jongin, but also he’s stronger. Next to him, Jongin feels safe, secure. He shifts and makes himself smaller so he can lean his head against Yixing’s shoulder. “Would you like… talk? Tell me a story or something?”

 

Jongin is clearly embarrassed, but a laugh rumbles through Yixing’s chest so he supposes it’s okay. “Sure. Let me think.” Yixing is quiet for a moment, but then he comes up with something. “Do you have a favorite flower, Jongin?”

 

He pauses. “Sunflowers, maybe,” he answers. It’s quiet for a moment before he realizes Yixing must be going somewhere with this. “What about you?”

 

“Amaryllis.” Jongin has never heard of those before. “The amaryllis symbolizes determination, strength, and love.”

 

“Really?” He thinks those are good things to stand for. “Do you have any at your shop?”

 

“No, not for a few months.” Yixing pauses. “But I could grow some for you.”

 

Jongin looks up at him, at his expression while he thinks. There’s something so quietly beautiful about Yixing. It’s not something Jongin thought about much at first, but now it’s like it’s all he can see. Beautiful, beautiful Yixing.

 

Yixing catches his gaze and smiles that pretty smile that Jongin loves so much. He thinks that smile could make flowers grow.

 

“You know, Amaryllis is a Greek name meaning _to sparkle_ ,” Yixing says, thoughtful. “There’s this one myth about a woman named Amaryllis. She fell in love with a shepherd who loved flowers, and his name was―”

 

“Yixing?” Jongin guesses.

 

He blinks. “What?” He tilts his head, confused, but then it seems to dawn on him. “No! Er, I mean…” He scratches his head, and Jongin thinks that Yixing is cute when he’s flustered. It doesn’t happen too often. “His name was Alteo. Everyone in town was after his heart, but all he cared about were his plants.”

 

Jongin thinks that this Alteo guy and Yixing aren’t so different.

 

“To learn how to win his affection, Amaryllis visited the Oracle of Delphi. With her advice, she stood in front of Alteo’s house and pierced her heart with a golden arrow for twenty-nine nights.”

 

He wrinkles his nose. “That’s a little weird.”

 

“It’s just a myth,” he reminds him. “Anyway, on the thirtieth night, a beautiful flower grew on the path from her blood. She brought it to Alteo, and he was amazed. He asked for her name, and when she told him, he named the flower after her.”

 

“Wow. Couple goals,” he jokes. He looks up at Yixing. “When are you gonna name a flower after me?”

 

Yixing smiles, but there's this look in his eyes that Jongin doesn't quite understand.  

 

 

Jongin’s sister is getting married. Her engagement party is this weekend, and he had almost completely forgotten until she called him to confirm that he was, in fact, coming. Truthfully, he had no intention of seeing his family ever again, let alone in a few days. The last time he and his father spoke… Well, it didn’t go well.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Yixing waves a hand in front of his face, taking a lazy bite of his sandwich.

 

Jongin blinks once, twice, three times. “What?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

 

“I can tell. You’ve been pouting and staring off into the distance for like ten minutes.” Yixing takes a drink of his tea and looks at him with concern. “What’s going on?”

 

“Um,” Jongin says. Does he tell him? He’s not so sure he wants to talk about it at all, and he has a feeling Yixing is gonna give him some speech about the importance of family.

 

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay,” he blurts. Over time, Jongin has realized that Yixing isn't nearly as cool as he originally thought he was. “I mean, I understand. You don’t need to say anything you don’t want.”

 

Tapping his fingers against the table, Jongin scowls. “It’s nothing. I just have some stuff this weekend that I don’t want to do. I forgot all about it, so now I have to figure out what exactly I’m gonna do.”

 

“Oh.” He’s quiet for a moment as he chews. “Well, can I help?”

 

“No, I don’t think―” Then it hits him. He can _bring Yixing._ Not only will he have company, but he’ll have someone to help him avoid his father. An excuse to leave early. “Actually, what are you doing Saturday night?”

 

 

Yixing shows up at his apartment wearing a plaid button up and jeans, and that is the exact moment when Jongin realizes this is not going to work. He likes Yixing, and he doesn’t want his parents to scare him off. This was a bad idea. He should let him off easy now.

 

“You’re wearing a suit,” Yixing realizes before Jongin can form the words. “Should I be wearing a suit? I don’t own one, but I could―”

 

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Jongin muses, sitting down on the couch heavily. “My family is kind of…” He looks up at him with sad eyes. “You should probably stay home.”

 

“What?” Yixing blinks. “Why would I stay home?” He sits down next to him and when he takes his hands in his own, Jongin feels warm inside. “Jongin, you don’t need to do this alone.”

 

Yixing has this thing about him; he's so reasonable, and he's always making Jongin rethink his entire perspective. Is he right? Jongin looks at him, and suddenly he thinks that there’s no reason for him to be worried when Yixing is standing by his side. Why has he been alone for so long again?

 

“We’re gonna have to go buy you a suit,” Jongin says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

 

 

Jongin knows a guy. Yixing is fitted into a suit and looking good in less than half an hour, and then they’re on their way to the Kim’s estate.

“I hope this isn’t weird,” Jongin says, glancing in the rear-view mirror as he merges lanes. “My family is a mess. If anyone says anything to you, ignore them. I’m sorry that you have to―”

 

“No, it’s okay.” Yixing puts his hand on Jongin’s thigh and smiles that pretty smile that makes flowers grow. “It’s going to be fine. We’re together.”

 

“Right,” Jongin mumbles. _Together._ Something about the word puts a strange feeling in the pit of Jongin’s stomach.

 

 

“It’s Jongin,” he says into the speaker.

 

“Oh! Welcome home, Mr. Kim.”

 

The giant iron gates open smoothly to allow them inside. There’s a servant there to greet them as Jongin pulls up.

 

“Hello, Alex.” Jongin hands him the keys. “Please, be careful with her.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

Yixing joins his side and clasps their hands together. Jongin brushes a stray strand of hair back into place and lets his hand linger against Yixing's cheek. He looks straight out a magazine spread with his pressed suit, expensive watch (that belongs to Jongin), and styled hair. He isn’t the boring florist anymore. It's with a start that Jongin realizes he hasn’t been for a long time.

 

When Jongin first met him, he remembers vaguely thinking that the florist looked like the before in the before-and-after photos. And while he looks handsome now, Jongin finds himself longing for the faded flannel shirts and distressed jeans. He thought that a makeover would somehow change him, but this is still the same old Yixing that brought him flowers and stayed up with him to look at the stars. He's beautiful now, but it seems that he always was.

 

“Are you ready?” Yixing asks. He has that goofy smile on his face, the one that makes Jongin feel like a teenager.

 

“Yeah," Jongin says. "I think I am.”

 

 

Jongin’s sister is there by the door to greet him. “Nini-Bear!” she cries, pulling him into a hug. She stands on her the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear and says in Korean, “I thought you were gonna bail. I was gonna drive to your apartment and drag you here by your hair.”

 

“It’s nice to see you too, Noona,” he replies kindly when he pulls away. “It’s been a long time. Where is your fiance?”

 

“He’s on the patio with dad.” There’s a warning in her voice, just for a moment, before she’s turning to Yixing. “And you! Welcome to our home. I’m Jungah.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you. I am Zhang Yixing.” Yixing shakes her hand and does a formal bow. “You have such a lovely home.”

 

“Thank you. Look at you; you’re so handsome.” Her gaze flickers to her brother again, then to where his and Yixing’s hands are interlocked. “Are you Jongin’s friend?”

 

“You could say that,” Yixing answers. He smiles graciously, and then Jongin is pulling him away.

 

“I’ll catch you later, Noona!” he calls over his shoulder. Once they’re safely out of range, Jongin groans. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she would ask, but you’re probably gonna get that question a lot tonight.”

 

“It’s okay.” Yixing squeezes his hand. “I don’t mind.”

 

Within an hour, the house is full. There are relatives, neighbors, family friends, co-workers. Jongin loses track of how many strangers have hugged him since he arrived. Yixing takes everything in stride, always smiling, always bowing, always being kind even when they don’t deserve it. There's a small voice in the back of Jongin's head reminding him that he doesn’t deserve it either.

 

There are tents on the lawn, as there are far too many people to fit in their dining room as large as it may be. Jongin is making a beeline for the garden to get away from the noise when he feels a hand on his forearm.

 

“Nini,” Jungah’s voice is strained. “Come sit with me and Jinki.”

 

“Oh.” He’s thinking of a way to politely decline when her nails begin to dig into his skin. “Of course.”

 

Mr. Kim is sitting at the head of the table when they arrive. At his sides are Jongin’s mom and some man who Jongin assumes is Jungah’s fiance.

 

“Ah, Jongin,” Mr. Kim says as Jongin takes a seat. “I didn’t even know you were here tonight.”

 

“And miss such an important night? I would never.” Jongin forces a smile, and when a servant passes by, he asks for a glass of wine.

 

“Well, it’s nice to have you home,” Jongin’s mom says, smiling at him. It’s been such a long time, he’s not even sure if it’s genuine or not. “Your father and I have missed you very much.”

 

He seriously doubts it, but now isn’t the time for arguing. This is supposed to be a good night, a happy one. They’re celebrating.

 

“And who is this?” Mr. Kim asks, turning Yixing.

 

“This is my friend, Zhang Yixing,” Jongin answers.

 

“Oh, so he’s a Chinese?” Mr. Kim’s eyebrows furrow together in a painfully familiar manner. In Korean, he asks, “Does he speak English?”

 

“Ya!” Mrs. Kim kicks him under the table. “You’re being rude,” she hisses.

 

“Actually, sir,” Yixing begins, still tracing his thumb over Jongin’s hand under the table, “I’m from Changsha, but since moving to America I have learned to speak English and Korean.”

 

Jongin has to bite his tongue. _Let’s play a game_ , he thinks to himself as the servant arrives with his wine. _Every time my father says something stupid, I take a drink._

 

 

By the time the main course has arrived, Jongin has finished off two glasses of wine. He’s forgotten how much of a raging asshole his father can be. Jungah is eyeing him from across the table, and he kind of feels bad, but he isn’t even really drunk yet, only slightly buzzed.

 

“So, Yixing,” Mr. Kim says as he cuts into his steak. “What do you do for a living?”

 

“I’m a florist. I own my own shop.”

 

Mr. Kim snorts, and Jongin takes another glass of wine off the platter when a servant passes by. “Oh, come on. You?”

 

“He owns and manages his own business, Father,” Jongin says, his voice level although there is something akin to anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. “What does it matter to you what he sells?”

 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You did go to art school after all.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jongin asks, and he’s not sure if he’s raised his voice or if the room has suddenly become very quiet.

 

“Oh, you know.” He shrugs. “Just that you gays are all the same.”

 

“Dad!” Jungah exclaims, but it doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

 

“This was a mistake,” Jongin murmurs. “We shouldn’t have come.”

 

“Jongin―”

 

“What sort of money do you make as a florist anyway?” Mr. Kim leans in. “Did my son buy you that suit? Are you just using him for the money?”

 

 _“Dad―”_ Jungah sounds horrified.

 

“Look, I’m not trying to fight.” Mr. Kim spreads his hands in surrender. “But come on, Jongin. I know you think you’re above us now that you’ve gone to _art school_ , but even you know enough to admit it. Gardening isn’t a real job. Not for a man, anyway.”

 

“You piece of shit!” Jongin stands up so fast that his chair topples over. “You stupid piece of shit!”

 

It’s a blur of movement, but then Jongin has his father by the tie and his face is oh so very close.

 

“ _You_ don’t know anything about me, father. You think you’re so fucking great because you’re surrounded by all this money, but you’re not. You just  _use_ people. You treat people you're supposed to care about like they’re toys and then expect them to fall at your feet. Well, guess what, Dad? Fuck you.”

 

He lets go, and when he straightens he wavers for a moment at the sight of his shocked family members. "Anything else?" He all but growls. When no one replies, he says, "I'm sorry for ruining the gathering. You can say what you want about me, but please leave Yixing out of this."

 

His feet are going before he can process the movement. There's a servant just entering the room, and Jongin snatches the wine bottle from his tray. He spits, “Good luck with your marriage, Noona,” and then he's gone.

 

 

The ride back to Jongin’s apartment is spent with Yixing driving and Jongin staring out the window, nursing the bottle of wine. He's probably trying not to cry, Yixing thinks. Understandably. It was a rather draining night.

 

“Jongin,” Yixing says quietly. He has to say  _something_. He feels a bit like it's his fault for putting Jongin into that situation. 

 

He doesn’t reply, just presses his face closer to the window so Yixing doesn’t see the tears welling in his eyes that are undoubtedly welling up.

 

“I’m sorry that just happened,” Yixing continues, his eyes on the road. “Maybe we should have stayed home like you said.”

 

“You think?” It’s probably supposed to come out sarcastic, but instead his voice breaks halfway. When Yixing glances at him, Jongin is already hiding his face in his hands. 

 

Yixing rubs Jongin’s thigh with one hand and steers with the other. “We’re almost there, Nini. Everything is going to be okay.”

 

+

 

It’s dark when Jongin stumbles out of his car. By now, Yixing is pretty accustomed to drunk Jongin, so his reflexes react quickly enough to catch Jongin before his skull crashes against the pavement. He wrestles the wine bottle from his arms and leaves it in the backseat of the car, ignoring Jongin's whining. The elevator trip isn't as hard when Jongin isn't grinding against him, but he keeps babbling. Yixing figures it's better to just tune it out. 

 

"Where is your key?" Yixing asks when they finally get to the door. 

 

"Key?"  Jongin blinks. Once. Twice. "Why don't  _you_ have a key? I mean, you're here aaaaaall the time."

 

Yixing stares at him.

 

"I mean c'mon Yixing, take some initiative," the drunk Jongin grumbles, fishing around his suit pockets. Finally, he produces a small key with a sunflower decal painted on it. Yixing's heart softens. 

 

"When did you get that?" It wasn't like that the last time he was here.

 

 

"Dunno." Jongin just holds it in the air before Yixing realizes he's supposed to take it.

 

"Right," he mutters. He unlocks Jongin's door and carefully takes off his (Jongin's) shoes. 

 

Jongin wanders in behind him, and Yixing decides that the best course of action is to get him to bed. "Come on, Nini. Time for bed," he says, attempting to lead him to the bedroom.

 

"You’re so nice, Yixing,” Jongin muses as he trips over a pile of clothes. “You’re like, _so_ nice. When I first met you I thought you were boring, but you’re not.”

 

As Yixing steadies him, he finds them face to face. “You’re so beautiful,” Jongin is saying, raising his hands to cup Yixing’s cheeks. His eyes are still red and watery from crying on the way here. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

 

Beautiful. What a lazy way to describe someone, Yixing thinks. There's so many other things worth praising: kindness, honestly, loyalty. To bring up a person's appearance is barely scraping the surface. He disentangles himself from Jongin's long limbs and helps him to sit down on the bed. Jongin immediately whines immediately at the loss of contact, but Yixing stops him, “Jongin, sh. Let me do this.”

 

As Yixing unbuttons his shirt, Jongin giggles. “This is familiar,” he says, arching into Yixing’s touch. “Remember the last time we were here?”

 

“Are you gonna _fuck_ me this time?” Jongin covers his mouth as if he’s embarrassed by the word. “I want you to. I wanted you to then, too, but you said I was too drunk.”

 

“You still are,” Yixing murmurs, finally managing to undo the zipper on Jongin’s dress pants. He mutters, “Maybe another time.”

 

“What?” Jongin can’t seem to stop giggling, all shy eyes and warm cheeks, but suddenly he sobers up, his voice solemn.  "I think I love you, Yixing."

 

Ignoring his hammering heart, he dismisses the statement with a simple, "You're drunk." 

 

"Yeah, and you're beautiful." When Yixing steps away to fold Jongin's discarded pants, Jongin scrambles forward. "Please don't leave. You really are so beautiful, Yixing. I only started to notice recently, but you are. Everything about you." He's rubbing his thumb over Yixing's hand, looking at it like it's the most precious thing he's ever seen. 

 

"I tried to paint you," Jongin says suddenly. "But it's like no matter what I do, I just can't capture  _you_. I want people to see you the way I do, but I don't know how to express it. Because it isn't just your appearance that's beautiful, it's  _you_."

 

He puts his hand over Yixing's heart. "I love you."  

 

Yixing curses under his breath. Jongin is so drunk. There's no point in putting weight in his words, he thinks, but... 

 

He finds himself hanging up their suits and climbing into bed. "It's okay, baby," he murmurs. "I'm here." The latter clings to him, so tall and yet so small in Yixing's arms. He thinks he's finally fallen asleep, but then―

 

“Do you promise?”

 

"What?" 

 

"Do you promise you'll stay?"  Jongin looks at him, his eyes so big and wet, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. Yixing's heart does a somersault.

 

“Yeah, Jongin, I promise.”

 

 

  
Once, a long time ago, Jongin's father gave him some advice. They were out on a golf course due to Mrs. Kim's insistence on them having some father-son bonding time. Instead of asking Jongin what he wanted to do, Mr. Kim dragged him out of bed at 5am to go to the country club. As Jongin placed a golf ball on the tee, his father practiced his swing behind him.

 

"You know, Jongin, you can't count on anyone for anything." He replaced his club with another and swung once more, calculating in his head which one would be best for this stroke. "The sooner you realize that, the less you'll get hurt in life."

 

Jongin was maybe eleven or twelve at the time, so he just stared at his father. "You can't count on anyone?" He was young and generally naive, so his father's words still held some weight in his impressionable mind.

 

"Nope." He finally decided on one of the many golf clubs in his caddy and gestured for the kid to move out of the way.

 

"Not even Mom?"

 

Mr. Kim hesitated, and Jongin knew the answer. "You're better off on your own," he says instead. "People will only disappoint you."

 

Maybe there was some truth to his father's words. It was more likely that Mr. Kim was just a gigantic asshole, but still, his words have lived with Jongin to this day. So when the memories of the night before come rushing back to him, he feels nauseous for reasons other than his hangover.

 

He wiggles out of Yixing's sweaty grip and stumbles into the bathroom. He doesn't know if he should scream or cry or what. His hands are clammy as he turns on the water to splash his face. His reflection isn't any better, so he keeps his head down.

 

What does he do? He’s _mortified_. How does he politely and kindly get Yixing out of his apartment and pretend that this never happened?

 

Jongin dries his face with a towel and makes the mistake of looking up. He looks like complete and utter shit. Heat rises to his cheeks and he has to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep the bile in that's threatening to rise up his throat.

 

"Nini?"

 

There's footsteps outside the door, and Jongin stumbles to the toilet just in time to vomit.

 

"Oh God." Yixing's voice is borderline disgusted, and Jongin feels the humiliation heat up his ears, but then there's cool hands brushing his hair out of his teary eyes. "Baby, how much did you drink last night?"

 

"Um," Jongin says, and then he jerks away to throw up again. Yixing’s hands chase him, holding his bangs out of the way so he can vomit in peace. However, somewhere along the way, Yixing's soothing hands leave his skin, and Jongin can't even bring himself to look up.

 

He's gone, of course he's gone. He's scared him away with all of his... mess. Jongin lost everything: his dinner, his image, his pride.

 

As he's flushes his soul down the drain, he rests back on his heels and brushes his sweaty bangs off his forehead. He's so busy wallowing in self-pity, he doesn't notice the door open again.

 

"Hey, are you done?" Yixing pokes his head in, and to Jongin's surprise, his eyes are curved into little crescents. Yixing's eyebrows furrow at his expression and he steps in, juggling a glass of water, a cold compress, and some Advil.

 

"You're still here?" Jongin asks miserably in response, pressing his forearms against the cool porcelain of his toilet seat.

 

"Where else would I be?" Yixing's dimples peek out at him as he kneels down in front of him. He uses a soft washcloth to wipe the vomit from the sides of Jongin's mouth, and Jongin wonders what he did to deserve this suffering.

 

Jongin gulps down three pills and the entire glass of water in one go, which his stomach quickly makes him regret. He tilts his head back to squint at the ceiling and rubs his hand over his tummy, willing the nausea away.

 

All the while, Yixing kneels next to him, smiling so fondly that Jongin thinks his heart might explode. It’s not fair. It’s really not fair that someone so beautiful could be so kind and lovely and why? Why is he still here? Why is he here torturing Jongin with his amazingness when he’s just gonna leave at some point anyway?

 

Eventually, there isn’t anything else left for Jongin to throw up, so he decides it’s about time to leave. Yixing helps him to his feet and, for a second, Jongin lets himself lean against him, lets himself bask in the warmth and security that is Zhang Yixing.

 

"Do you wanna try and eat something?"

 

The moment is broken. Jongin looks down at him and steps away. "Don't feel like you need to stick around," he mumbles, hobbling towards the door. "I'm fine now; I won’t choke on my own vomit in my sleep. Just make sure to lock the door on your way out."

 

Jongin tries to pass by him, but Yixing grabs his hand. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Just leave, like last time,” Jongin spits. “I’m surprised you’re still here in the first place.”

 

“Jongin, _what_?” His gaze is so sad, but Jongin isn’t looking. “What happened? We were fine before―”

 

“Look, Yixing,” he rubs his temples as he searches for the words. “I’m really sorry about last night. I should have never brought you there. You’re probably better off forgetting about all this, okay? I would understand if you turned and left right now.” He covers his eyes. “Here! Go right now. I won’t even look.”

 

Yixing’s hand is gentle on top of his own as he tugs it out of the way. “Please, listen to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Jongin thinks he’s gonna cry. But he _can’t_ , not until Yixing leaves. He doesn’t think Yixing will go if he sees the tears welling in Jongin’s eyes.

 

“What is this about?”

 

“Nothing! I just―I want you to leave!” Jongin hides his face in his hands. “Please. Just go?”

 

“Could you just listen?” Jongin shakes his head, but Yixing says quickly, “Hear me out, and if you still want me gone, I will leave.”

 

Jongin is frowning, but he nods.

 

“I love you,” he blurts.

 

Jongin is already turning away, but Yixing’s hand stops him.

 

“Since the beginning, I’ve always liked you, Jongin. Do you remember the day we met, and you were so lost? I wanted to ask you out then, but I chickened out. I guess some small part of me was hoping you would come back. I didn’t think it would take so long.”

 

He chuckles, but Jongin flushes at the memory.

 

“But then I saw you again. You asked me to go home with you, but _God_.” He exhales through his nose. “You were so drunk. It’s like you only like me when you’re drunk.”

 

“That’s not―”

 

“No, it’s okay.” Yixing smiles. “It’s okay because I know that it’s not like that. Because I know you, Jongin, and I want to be with you.”

 

“You say that now, but what about in a few months? In a year? Two years?” Jongin rubs his eyes with the heels of his hand.

 

“That’s the future,” Yixing says with a strong sort of finality. “This is right now, and right now I’m in love with you. Please.” He takes Jongin’s hand, rough and callused from years of art work, in both of his. “Do you remember that story I told you about Amaryllis and Alteo? You're my Alteo, and you don't need to doubt me. I'm here, offering you my heart, as long as it takes.

 

"You don’t need to be scared anymore. I’m right here, just like I promised I would be.”

 

Jongin slips his hand from Yixing’s grip to cover his face. “God, _Yixing_.” His voice breaks. This is so embarrassing. “I love you too.” He’s been leaning against the wall all this time, but now he’s slipping. There’s something so heavy that's been weighing over his heart, but it’s gone now, like cutting the ropes that held him for so long.

 

Yixing follows him to the ground, his arms warm and tight and protective where they’re wrapped around his shoulders. With him here, Jongin finally feels secure.

 

He’s been lost for so long, but, finally, he's been found.


End file.
